“What’s this about leaving us?” he demanded of his old chum in the old friendly tone.
Unprepared for such treatment, the seer sheepishly explained the unpleasant predicament of his physical envelope in the caves of Gingalee.
“Well, do you mean to stay there then?”—anxiously, almost hopefully, from Bill.
“I should say not. I’ll be back by tea time tomorrow sure. You know, Mrs. Vanderhook expects me to look after the decorations of her April-Fool tea party. That’s tomorrow, you know, so—”
Bill’s brows contracted wickedly for an instant. Then he laughed.
“Then why in Sam Hill are you going at all?” demanded Bill; which entailed another recital of the danger.
“But what if the beasts do eat up your old hide! It won’t hurt ’em even if it is a tough proposition. And you don’t need your cuticle and cartilage any more, as I can see—and besides, I want you home today specially. I want you home tonight anyway, for, Leff and Genesy, too”—and Bill’s voice dropped,—“suppose we let bygones be bygones. I’ve been a Tom-Fool to monkey with the irrevocable. I concede the superiority of the astral. I acknowledge your primordial claim upon each other. But I’m tired of these strained relations in the house. Let’s have peace and a good time. And now that I’m finding consolation in Science, why not let’s call off the fight? Let’s have a cessation of hostilities and a renewal of confidences.”
“With all my heart,” said Alonzo Leffingwell, which appeared more cordial than the fact really warranted. For in his state of being, “heart” was a very empty space. “I’m reconciled,” he continued languidly.
“Me, too,” sighed Imogene, suspiciously and reluctantly.
“Shake,” said Bill in a loud, glad voice, laying one hand over his wife’s and shaking the other cordially through the wrist of the astral gentleman.